


If We Can Mend Our Broken Hearts Like This

by anythingunderthesun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, ziall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingunderthesun/pseuds/anythingunderthesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Niall and Zayn are both broken but are somehow able to fix each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For The First Time

Mr. Martin moaned and rolled over, away from the annoying beeping noise spurting from the alarm clock sitting on his dresser. The move effectively flung him from his cocoon of warm blankets to the cold, hard floor, where he landed painfully on his shoulder. He didn't see the point of laying on the wood for any longer than he already had, so he pulled himself up using the bookshelf along the wall, so crammed with books he almost couldn't find a place for his fingers.

That was him. Everything was black and white, either correct or incorrect, pointless or helpful. You did things this way or not at all. Of course, this helped him with teaching, being able to point out flaws and providing methods to fix them. It was rhythmic, routine. But change brought a new wave of melody to spice things up.

That thought carried him down the stairs, after throwing on the nearest shirt and trousers in the room and grabbing his belt and thick socks from his dresser. A new student was transferring to Calvin High School, a pleasant change from the idiots he normally taught. It was especially promising that he was placed in Calculus, the most advanced course he taught throughout the day, making it the only slightly tolerable one. Everything about the student, named Niall from what he could tell, was stellar. All of the teacher's comments, report cards, and extracurricular program final reports were almost unbelievably amazing. He was almost glad to go to work today.

He scarfed down the cold scone he had gotten out for breakfast and chugged his cup of tea, also almost room temperature from being neglected for too long. In one movement he shoved his on single pair of almost-falling-apart shoes and pulled his coat on, stepping out of his door into the bitter winter air of Bradford.

* * * 

The day had finally rolled around to third period, and with that brought his much-beloved Calculus class. Mr. Martin viewed each face as they walked in the door, searching for the one that stood out as unfamiliar. The classroom filled up slowly, desks soon covered with miscellaneous items: paper, binders, notebooks, writing utensils, books, and whatever else the students decided to carry around (Sometimes he wondered. Was it really necessary to carry around a rubber ball, or a stuffed whale?). He was starting to give up hope as fewer and fewer desks were left untouched by clutter, but with the final thong of kids came Niall.

He was completely bright, vibrant with life, from the tips of his wispy blonde hair to the bottoms of his white Surpas. Mr. Martin blinked at the light of him, wondering why he had been looking so hard for something so easy to find, like the moon shining among the stars. As he approached Mr. Martin's desk, he took long, effortless strides, letting his arms swing freely by his sides, books clenched loosely in his hand. His hips swayed slightly, clad in an almost-white gray pair of trousers that pooled around the top of his shoes in that carelessly beautiful aura he seemed to carry, the one that was filled with life. Even his simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled slightly, was just tight enough that it showed his lean muscle through the thin fabric. He was young and free, happy and light, his eyes a shimmering, shifting blue with crinkles around the edges from his laughter, even now his soft pink lips curled upwards in the corners.

Mr. Martin blinked. If he had been expecting something, it wasn't this boy standing in front of him. He pictured the nerdy kid with greasy hair, not-so-smooth complexion, and thick glasses perched on his nose above a shy smile he had always seen Niall as. But he liked the new Niall, the one that screamed life and vitality, much more. He introduced himself quickly and followed with a firm hand shake returned by the blonde lad, muscles in his arms shifting and standing out.

"Nice to meet you, sir," he said, lips parting to reveal teeth as white as his shirt, voice ringing out with not-so-subtle hints of Irish. Mr. Martin pointed to the single desk left, the one beside the lad nobody knew anything about, and didn't like (even though they knew nothing about him. That made no sense to Mr. Martin. It was illogical.). He was tall, with a slender build complete with ropy cords of muscle. His raven-dark hair was styled perfectly in a quiff, high above his eyes, full of secrets and hidden twists and turns. He kept his black pencil clamped in his hand, flying over pages unseen by any other, his brow furrowed from deep thought and concentration. Everything about him was tense, on edge, from his clenched jaw to his tight fist, pressed firmly on his current page, muscles rippling under his coffee-coloured skin. He was all hard edges, crisp lines--even the crinkles in both his black jeans and leather jacket seeming to remain sharply creased--wound so tight you would have thought he would have snapped by now.

He remained in his tight state as Mr. Martin talked to Niall and even as the blonde lad began to approach him. But his deep eyes, full of splashes of green and waves of chocolate, flashed to Niall as he began to make his way down the isle to his new seat, the one beside him. Zayn watched him casually overstep bookbags, feet, and wads of paper effortlessly, with that easy grace of his.

As he came to stand in front of Zayn, his eyes slip up from their position on the floor to meet the dark-haired boy's, deep brown meeting ocean-blue, and Zayn could feel the intensity of the sea seeming to bore into his eyes. He could feel the probing, as if searching into the depths of his soul, and Zayn didn't like it, didn't like the way that Niall seemed to drink up who he was. His eyes slip back down to the page he had been working on before Niall had shown up and he felt Niall slide into the vacant seat beside him, setting his books down softly and pulling out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil identical to the one Zayn held. Of course, Zayn didn't notice, already back into his tense posture, scribbling on the page before him.

Mr. Martin watched the silent exchange in distaste. He was worried about those two, especially since they sat at the back where he couldn't see them as well. All Mr. Martin saw between the two were differences: everything about Niall was bright and cheerful, from the top of his flyaway blonde hair to the bottom of his white Surpas, his face full of life and vibrance, while Zayn, with his dark complexion and gloomy expression, accented by his leather jacket and charcoal grey t-shirt, complete with leather boots and black skinny jeans, was dark and sinister. But he left his uneasiness behind and stood up to teach his lesson for today.


	2. Home Is Where The Heart Is

Niall collapsed onto his bed. New town, new school, new LIFE. Everything from the full, taxing day swam into his mind: the teachers, the classes, the cafeteria, the students. He tried to fit it all together, make the image that made sense, like a map for navigating the new and unfamiliar.

Even with all of the confusion, turmoil his world was in right now, he was grateful for the distraction, good for any number of reasons: the hunger gnawing at his stomach, the cold that seemed to settle into the house, reaching in all the nooks and crannies and sunk right into your bones, the memories from those he had left behind burning beneath his eyelids. The constant flashes of new and confusing material was leaving him breathless and dizzy, floating onward and away from the solid earth.

He stood up quickly, walking over to his box of music, not yet unpacked, and pulling out a Bon Jovi CD. After shoving it into the reluctant stereo and turning the volume down low, he turned to his bookbag and got the necessary materials for his homework.

The constant beat and rhythm grounded him, kept him from flying off into the clouds. But as the night crept across the room, throwing it in shadow, and his homework was packed up, the CD placed onto the empty shelf, his head was back on the moon, a million questions swimming in it. They followed him as he stepped into the warn shower, a temporary sanctuary from the world around him. Would anybody like him? Where would he sit for lunch? Would his teachers know what they would talk about? Would anybody be like him? Did anyone miss him? Had anyone guessed his secret?

As the last thought crossed he looked down at his body, seeing the way that that secret had affected him. He pressed his fingers to his ribs, able to count each one easily, could see the way his hipbones stuck out much further than they should. He ran his fingers over his skin where it was raised in neat lines, spelling out everything he was.

alone

lost

broken

worthless

nothing

pretender

He smiled, remembering each mark, each cut, some faded into shimmering white and others still beaded with blood from his scrubbing. Every word told a story, and together, they made up who he was, on display for the world to see, if they cared enough to want to.

The shower switched abruptly to a stream of cold water, snapping him out of his reverie. He finished cleaning himself and watched the red liquid run down his body in streams, flowing gently, so unlike the sharp lines of the scrawled words and the sharp pain he remembered, the one that drove away everything else he didn't want to feel.

When the last drop of red had fallen from his fingertips, he shut the water off and stepped into the cold air beyond the shower curtain, reaching for his towel to shield him from it. He gingerly dried himself, hoping the red would be masked by the dark blue color of the towel. Not that anyone else would be looking at his towel, but it never hurt to be cautious.

After he had finished drying his matted hair and put on his favorite sweatpants, he lay down on his bed again, the room illuminated only by the streetlight that shone through the window. The thick silence threw his mind back into the stars, back into his memories of the day.

He remembered how he had gotten home today, how after walking through the powdery snow for two miles he had reached his new, well, new to him, front door and shoved his key into the warped keyhole and forced the door open. He remembered how he had felt the mask he had been wearing all day fell off of his skinny frame, how he slumped back against the door the wind had blown closed, how his lips turned down at the corners and his eyes slid closed. He remembered the feeling of release, how his muscles had relaxed from their tense posture, how he no longer had to worry about any judging eyes.

Sometimes he wished he could be like that all the time, carefree, happy, even. But he wasn't. It is impossible to carry happiness with you if it does not have a home in your heart. Niall had lost it a long time ago, leaving behind a very broken boy. But that doesn't mean he wasn't searching for it.


	3. And When You Smile, The Whole World Stops And Stares For A While

The next morning Niall awoke to the thump of a a barren tree branch, dusted in snow, swaying in the wind and tapping on the window. Normally he would have moaned and thrown the covers back over his head, but he saw that his clock read 8:00, leaving him only fifteen minutes to get ready for school and actually get to school. On foot. Through the thick-laying snow.

At that thought he threw the covers off, almost welcoming the freezing air from his non-heated house to chill him even though he craved the warmth of the blankets, because he knew it was about to get a lot worse.

He had run the entire way to school and skipped breakfast in the process to make the bell (well, that wasn't the only reason he skipped breakfast, but it is his excuse for it). That left him lightheaded and slightly out of breath as he slid into his seat for homeroom, but his alert mind had already started whirring and automatically slid on his smiling face, open eyes, and carefree posture for him, covering his current state for him.

He guessed that meant he had played the lying game too long. But was that a good thing or a bad thing? He supposed it could be seen as both: a safe feeling as you kept yourself away from judgmental eyes, but also an empty feeling, a trapped feeling, born from the same substance as that sanctuary, the one that protected your back while clawing at it itself. Loneliness was not a light thing in his heavy heart, but he did carry it as much as he didn't happiness.

Maybe it would all change. Maybe, with this new town, new school, new life, he could go somewhere, be something. But fear also reigned within him, held him back from diving into the unknown.

By the time the first period bell rang, signalling everyone to move, Niall had control of himself once again and he led his open walk down the hallway to the science labs. He smiled and nodded at familiar faces. He kept his eyes wide, absorbing information so he could get back to constructing that mental map, his only guide to this new place.

He could even work well with a nice, lively fellow by the name of Louis in Biology when they became lab partners for the hour, testing hair and DNA samples beneath the microscope. If Niall was unhappy, even if it didn't seem so, Louis was the opposite, completely bubbling over with happiness. He was fun to be around for Niall, like a breath of fresh air that he used to keep him from drowning in his heart.

Each period can only last so long, however, so the time came for Louis to say goodbye as the second period bell rang just after they had finished cleaning their lab station. He hoped to see Louis again, and wondered how he had missed the lad and his bright stripes to match his bright personality yesterday. Niall felt as if he were treading water instead of sinking in it today.

Second period passed without much excitement, as they were only running track. Nobody really talked to him or stuck out in his mind because they were all too focused on the single goal: finish the laps so they could relax. He was going at much too fast a pace for them to keep up with anyway, but football does that to you. The field was 120 yards after all, and he had to cover every inch of it, being center midfielder. But his breezy ability to run and then finish first while having less sweat than the one who finished last only alienates you in the locker room, he discovered. The third period bell rang and he was the first out the door, sick of the sidelong glances and whispers they thought he couldn't detect.

His rush out of the locker room made him first into the math classroom, which he realized wasn't the best because it led to an awkward discussion with the teacher about how he was liking the school. He stood at the front of the classroom, shifting from foot to foot as he answered the questions thrown at him until others began to trickle in. Only then did he wave casually to Mr. Martin and work his way back to his seat, the isle slightly freer of obstacles than yesterday because of the fewer number of people. He lifted his eyes from the floor to see once again the peculiar boy from yesterday, the one that hadn't relaxed once and wore dark colors. The boy was once again scribbling in his journal, pencil racing furiously across the page in his tight grip.

Niall blinked as the final bell rang. He hadn't realized he had been staring at the tense boy, but didn't really want to stop. He was intriguing and ever seemed a bit like Niall in some respects, even with the vast difference of color and manner. It was something only those who knew it for themselves could see. The boy seemed to be wearing a mask also, one to block out himself and hide his secrets, something Niall understood. But he loved how much better he was at it, how much more convincing, how much more he seemed to be able to deal with it. Niall thought it was wonderful that he had found someone who could soothe his own aching heart (and even more grateful the dark lad didn't know about it, as that kept Niall away from awkward conversations that he had to act even more in).

". . . And Niall and Zayn," finished Mr. Martin. Niall tore his eyes away from Zayn when he heard his name, a puzzled expression coming across his face. Some sort of instructions had been given out, he had realized, by the teacher and he had not heard any of them because of Zayn. And now he was expected to work with him?

He flinched when Zayn tapped him on the shoulder, twice, very deliberate, precise in his movements, and turned to once again look into those golden eyes, full of brown and green flecks that shimmered and moved and . . .

"Hello. I'm Zayn. You must be Niall, correct?" the owner of the eyes said in a soft, musical voice, his lips brushing together just slightly with each word, tongue lazily poking out between them with his 'l's. Niall slowly nodded, trying to gain back his already-shaky facade.

"I guess we're working together," he replied. Great. A conversation, while not awkward, required his acting, and he felt bad for deceiving someone that also seemed to have that something eating him alive, something he could relate to and talk about but at the same time couldn't.

"Great. You seem like a good partner. Have any first ideas?" Zayn asked, again with that gentle flow of words and sound. He wasn't tense anymore, just another easy-going guy having a conversation. Niall wondered what the change was.

"You go first," Niall requested, having no idea what they were supposed to be doing and hoping that Zayn wouldn't pick up on that. Zayn laughed, something so beautiful Niall had to mentally screw his jaw shut to prevent it from hanging to his feet.

"You weren't listening, were you?" he teased. Niall fought back his blush, but knew his pale skin was betraying him. So much for that idea.

"What makes you think that?" he countered.

"I can feel it when people are staring at me," said Zayn darkly, tensing back up into the almost-frightening person Niall had first seen. This time Niall could most certainly not bite back the color rising to his cheeks. But, all the same, why did Zayn say that so creepily, like it was a bad thing? Niall made a mental note to ask him later about it, when the immediate conflict was out of the way.

"Okay, then please enlighten me," Niall said, hoping he would indeed get some sort of answer, flashing Zayn a bright smile for good measure. It may not be real, but it sure worked, especially on darkly-clad people such as himself. They just weren't used to the light.

It did work. Zayn blinked and stared at the ground for a few seconds before raising his eyes to meet Niall's still-smiling ones.

"You, um, I mean, we," he started, flustered and pink-tinged, his eyes still boring into Nialls's, continuing more steadily after a deep breath, "have to research a famous mathematician and write a paper on who he was and what he contributed to the mathematics fields as we know them today. And then provide some sample problems, solved." Yes, he was good at this game. But two could play.

Niall snorted. "That's easy."

"Well, don't tell Mr. Martin that, or we'll have to do more," Zayn reminded him. That shut Niall up, at least until he had another bright idea.

"Want to come to my house so we can work on it?" he asked hopefully. He pretended that Zayn hadn't tightened himself back up into a little ball, looking very reluctant, but Zayn was just too--he didn't even know how to finish that. Soothing? Relatable? Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he started up again, "I live alone, so it will be peaceful and quiet, and I have a computer and several encyclopedias so we can do research on our mathematician, and I have--"

"You had me at peace and quiet," Zayn interrupted, unfurled from his stiff posture once again. He pulled out a Sharpie from who-knows-where and scribbled something on Niall's arm. The bell rang, and Niall was left hanging, his stuff still strewn across the desk. He hastily shoved everything into his bag and stalked out the door, angry at Zayn for making him feel like this. But he knew deep down he was really mad at himself for feeling like this.


End file.
